


Prey

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Mob AU [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, Drugging, M/M, Rhys gets drugged with an aphrodisiac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: “ 'Drinking age in America is 21.' Jack comments idly, earning himself a sour look from the young omega.'Yeah, I know. It sucks so hard.' Rhys crosses his arms, bobbing lightly on his feet as his eyes trail over the walls and ceiling of the little hallway. Like the rest of the lodge, the walls are paneled in sleek, lacquered wood, dotted with the occasional painted pastoral hanging in a bronze framed stylized with long twigs and leaves. The whole building looks far too quaint to be hosting a gathering of mob bosses, even if the intention is something as comparatively innocent as an omega cotillion."————Rhys is being presented at a party to various alpha suitors. Neither him nor his bodyguard are particularly pleased about this.





	Prey

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set before the other two in terms of continuity, as Rhys' dad is still alive. I figure Rhys is around 19-20 at this time. Enjoy!

The verdant, woodsy landscape of upstate New York did much to ease Jack’s homesickness, the lingering feeling in his stomach that constantly reminded him how out of his element he was in America. He felt much calmer here than he did in the cacophony and clutter of the city, able to step out into air not clouded with exhaust and instead smelling of fresh grass and pollen and crisp breeze.

It was warmer than Russia would be this time of year, and little snow clung to the distant mountains as winter slowly melted into early spring. In the little amount of time Jack had spent outside of the Somerset Family lodge, he had seen the little purple and yellow wildflower buds starting to peak out from the sheaves of nubile green grasses, watched the first wave of fuzzy bees tended to the nascent flowers.

It was so peaceful.

Less peaceful was the nature of their visit, though it paled in comparison to the usual bloody, cutthroat business custom down in the city. Indeed, loan shakedowns and targeted assassinations had given way to negotiating with caterers and coordinating event planners and many, many different outfit changes for young Rhys. After all, it was a special event in the man’s life—his omega cotillion, where he would be officially presented to the distinguished guests of his father.

Jack knew Rhys was sour on the whole affair, from the way he intentionally gave contradicting menus to the caterers to his flat-out rejections of many of the outfits proposed by the fancy omega dressmakers his father had invited along with their sizable entourage. As petulant as Rhys could be, Jack had found the entire debacle wholly amusing, and may or may not have encouraged the young omega to hamper the setup for the event by letting Rhys win at the smuggled video games in his cloistered room.

The cotillion itself was mostly standard and ran smoothly. Jack spent most of his time on the upper floor looking down at the ball below, watching with a cautionary hand on his gun as he watched Rhys be presented by his father, before descending into a crowd of young alpha suitors all insistent on reverently kissing Rhys’ hand and greeting him with white, winning smiles. Jack stayed stoic, half shadowed until he was beckoned down from his perch by Rhys’ father to stand at the young omega’s side. Jack welcomed the opportunity to relax, and though he abstained from alcohol he was more than willing to help himself to the piles of fancy food spread out on the various tables circling the room.

Rhys’ father is busy speaking with some of the other mob bosses that he had invited when Jack notices Rhys slowly rise from the table, slipping into the crowd and out through one of the adjoining hallways. Jack raises his eyebrow, looking around the ballroom before slipping like ink after Rhys. He doesn’t have to look far, finding the omega leaning up against the wall of the hallway with a drink in his hand. Rhys doesn’t seem particular surprised to see Jack approach, merely taking another sip before smacking his lips.

“Rhys is drinking?” Jack asks, eyeing the amber liquid in Rhys’ large glass. The omega only shrugged, swirling the sparkling liquid around in the crystal goblet.

“Yeah, but not alcohol….just apple cider.” Rhys mumbles, taking a deep gulp and licking the little amber droplets off his lips. “Dad doesn’t let me drink yet.”

“Drinking age in America is 21.” Jack comments idly, earning himself a sour look from the young omega.

“Yeah, I  _know_. It sucks so hard.” Rhys crosses his arms, bobbing lightly on his feet as his eyes trail over the walls and ceiling of the little hallway. Like the rest of the lodge, the walls are paneled in sleek, lacquered wood, dotted with the occasional painted pastoral hanging in a bronze framed stylized with long twigs and leaves. The whole building looks far too quaint to be hosting a gathering of mob bosses, even if the intention is something as comparatively innocent as an omega cotillion.

“Like, you have  _no clue_  how much I wanna be wasted this whole weekend.” Rhys shoots a childish pout in Jack’s direction, leaning up against the wall and crossing one ankle over the other. Jack can see how the charcoal cuff of his trouser pulled up ever so slightly above his dress shoes, showing off a shockingly colorful pair of socks that certainly couldn’t be apart of outfit approved by the omega’s father.

“Bet if we were in  _your_  country I could drink whenever I wanted. I mean you guys are always drinking over there right?”

“Stereotype,” Jack grouses, taking a cautious step towards the annoyed omega, “you do not want to be here?”

Rhys snorts, rolling his eyes. He tightens his arms over his chest, eyes glancing away when Jack approaches him from the side.

“Don’t tell me  _you_  would want to be parading in front of a bunch of dumb alphas who are just trying to get a look at your ass, because if you do you can take my place.”

Rhys swirls the sparkling cider around and around in his cup, a little bit splashing out of the glass and down the curved side. Rhys lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks it off inelegantly. His other hand works at the stiff collar around his neck—able to protest, in private, the prim mold Jack can see him being forced into.

“Seriously….I used to like coming up here….when I was little I could go outside and explore, go by the river and catch frogs if I wanted to…all the flowers are gonna start blooming soon but I have to stay inside and wear these stupid clothes and look pretty and laugh and flirt so dad can marry me off to some  _jerk_.”

“Spring is when young omegas are most fertile.” Jack comments, noticing the way Rhys’ starts, his pout deepening into a genuine, sour frown.  

“Jeez, thanks….way to talk about me like I’m a frikkin’ animal….you’re just like dad.” Rhys sighs, draining the rest of his glass before placing it down on the rustic little side table.

“I….did not mean that.” Jack frowns, crossing his arms over his front, feeling guilty pinch in his stomach as he catches wind of the boy’s upset scent. Rhys’ feelings seem to bleed out more into his pheromones than other omega’s Jack has encountered before—something that Jack isn’t sure to pin either on genetics or his youth.

“T-Then….than maybe just don’t say anything…” Rhys huffs, pushing himself up from the wall. “Y-Y’know, I’m so sick of hearing about alphas opini—“

Again Jack thanks his ability to snap instantaneously into action, as he lunges forward to catch Rhys just as the omega’s legs wobble and send him pitching forward. Jack wraps his arms tightly about the omega’s waist, supporting the omega’s weight with ease as he straightens up with Rhys in his grasp.

“Are you all right?”

He can hear the quick, surprised little breaths coming from Rhys, can feel the young man’s heart pounding through where Jack’s hand is braced against his back. The bodyguard raises his eyebrow at the sudden heat wafting off of the omega’s shaking body, and as soon as Rhys feels steady again he puts a sliver of space between them and examines the omega’s face.

Rhys’ skin looks pale, paler than usual save for his cheeks, which are colored a deep, rosy pink, as if Rhys is a couple of glasses of wine into his night—except Rhys had explicitly  _told_  him that he wasn’t allowed to drink. Jack bites his lip, ready to launch into a lecture about Rhys sneaking alcohol at his own cotillion, where his father expected poise and politeness when suddenly Rhys lurches forward with those wet pink lips puckered loosely together.

Jack tilts his jaw up just in time for Rhys’ lips to fall against his throat rather than his mouth, only to regret his decision as Rhys’ lips move against the artery tensing against his skin. Jack’s hands freeze around Rhys’ waist, and though he retains the cool composure carved through his years as a hired gun, what the young man says next nearly melts him.

“What was that you said,” Rhys breaths hotly against Jack’s neck, “about omegas being most fertile in spring?”

Perhaps more violently than he means to, Jack shoves Rhys’ away, grip tightening on the omega’s shoulders as Rhys sways on his feet, nearly falling over again as his legs turn to jelly. Swearing, Jack has no choice but to tug Rhys close again, and this time the heat radiating from him is truly concerning.

“Rhys, are you all right? Зайчик?” Jack asks, a little more urgently this time as he gives Rhys’ shoulder a firm shake. All that does is earn him another, more high-pitched whine as Rhys pushes up on his tip toes to nose against Jack’s jawline. Jack’s body tenses as he feels hot breath huff against his skin, sending it aflame with realization that Rhys is trying to  _scent_  him.

Recognition pops in Jack’s brain.

He takes a deep, deep breath, trying to get a proper read on Rhys’ scent, to locate possible changes that may confirm his theory—but Rhys smells nothing like the heated omegas Jack has encountered, has taken care of in his lifetime. The fever, the desperation, the scenting—all of that speaks of an omega in the throes of preheat, but even when Jack presses his nose into Rhys’ sweaty locks he senses little change in the young man’s primary scent profile. Jack wracks his brain, trying to untangle this situation while keeping Rhys’ hands and lips away from all those compromising places they wish to bury themselves in.

Then his eyes fall on the abandoned, nearly drained glass of apple cider sitting on the nearby table, and the last piece slides into place

* * *

“What happened to him?” Rhys’ father growls as he bangs through the door, face set in a frown as he scans the scene before him. Rhys lays flush against the bed, the comforters tossed to the floor and the sheets wrapped tightly like a cocoon about his body. Rhys lets out a small whine in recognition, lifting his head slightly before letting it fall limp back against his pillow.

“He has been drugged. Will be many hours before he is recovered.” Jack looks up, removing his hand from where it had been resting against Rhys’ wrapped up hip, lacing his fingers together in his lap. Rhys’ father’s face twitches into a grimace as he swirls over to Rhys’ side, standing stiff and authoritative. His arms crossed over his chest, gripping both forearms in aggravation.  

“What? How did that happen?”

“Heat drugs. Slipped into his drink.” Jack remains seated, suppressing the urge to pace around the room, or go out and find whoever had done this to Rhys and break their jaw. His boss’s face twists further, frustration curling his lip.

Rhys’ head rolled back to face Jack, his eyes wide and pleading as a small mewl trickled from his lips. Jack’s clenched hands tightened, face impassable, flickering only slightly around the puckered skin of his scar.

“Is smart to check cameras, turn out the pockets of Rhys’ suitors.”

Rhys’ father’s fingers tap against his chin, elbow now cradled in his other hand.

“I…I’m not sure frisking my  _guests_ , many from families I’m trying to reaffirm relations with, would be a good idea.” Rhys’ dad states firmly. Jack’s eyes harden, but he says nothing to contest him.

“Then perhaps tell the guests that the young one has fallen ill and must retire for the night.” Jack replies. Both men glance to Rhys, still wrapped up on the bed, still flushed red and sweating and letting out little, distressed moans.

“How long did you say this lasted?”

“Did not. Maybe eight, ten hours.”

“Good. Then it won’t disrupt things too badly. We will have to cancel the morning’s breakfast, but…” Rhys’ dad slips his phone out from his pocket, fingers tapping against the screen before he again sheaths it back into his dress pants.

“First aid will be up in a moment to bring more water and mild suppressors. He needs to be out of bed, dressed, and ready to meet with the Jakobs alpha in the garden by noon tomorrow.” Rhys’ father states clinically, before turning to leave. Jack watches his back, eyes icy and hard even as his expression remains neutral.

“Of course, sir.”

* * *

First aid brings more water, and emergency suppressors that amount to little more than placebos, useless to Rhys’ distressed brain. The offer of an omega aid is shot down in a frustrated call from Rhys’ father, and soon Jack is left alone again, Rhys now restrained in a strapped jacket that keeps his thighs closed and his arms crossed over his chest.

It rankled Jack just to look at.

He kept his hand resting on Rhys’ thigh, gently stroking him, keeping his touch featherlight as to not cause the omega’s any more distress. Jack knew that if he grew too handsy, it would only rile Rhys up more than he already was, and the omega was already suffering far too much for Jack to properly stomach it.

He didn’t fully understand how he could witness graphic murder after graphic murder and still be distressed by an omega being denied the help that they needed.

“ _J….Jaack…_ ” Rhys whimpers, eyes glazed and tear as he once again tries to plead with his bodyguard. His form writhes on the bed in helpless arousal, heels grinding useless against the sheets as he tries to roll closer to Jack, to buck up into the hand resting on his thigh.

“Please….n….need you….please….help…” Rhys groans, voice hampered by breathy sobs as the induced arousal burns like fire in his veins. Jack’s jaw tightens, his fingers flickering ever so slightly before he forces them to still.

“You know this. I cannot.”

“Nn….please…. _please_ …” Rhys’ eyelids flutter rapidly, his swollen, pink lips struggling to work against each other, to make the words so slow to come up his throat.

“No, Rhys. Not for this. Is not real.” Rhys’ distressed little cry rips right into his heart. Tears bubble up in the omega’s eyes, splashing down his cheeks and dripping down his chin.

“W-Why, Jack, please, I need it, please…why” Rhys sobs, thighs rubbing uselessly together, trying futilely to get himself off.

“ _Why are you doing this to me_?” Rhys practically screeches, his whole body jerking against his restraints. His breath comes faster, chest rapidly moving up and down against the restraining jacket.

Jack places a hand, firm yet tender, on Rhys’ forehead, smoothing his hair back. The young man is burning up, sweat trickling down his temples underneath Jack’s palm. Rhys’ eyes race back and forth in a panicked flicker

“The first time, Rhys,” Jack murmurs, stroking his thumb beneath Rhys’ eye, trying to catch his attention, “the first time, the  _real_ time you have your heat.”

That draws Rhys’ eye, recognition fluttering beneath his cloudy eyes as he manages to focus on Jack’s face, on the promise lingering on his lips.

Jack feels assured that Rhys is too delirious to remember anything that he says in that moment as he leans in and presses a soothing, chaste kiss against the tip of the omega’s nose. He meets Rhys’ eyes, a smile as comforting as he can muster on his lips as he wipes a drying tear from the omega’s cheek.

“I will take care of you.”


End file.
